Sunday, February 15, 2009

A few weeks back I started reading Roy Jenkins' Churchill and was fairly impressed with the first two chapters. I stopped reading it there though, not for lack of interest but for lack of strength in my forearm. You see, I read lying down, always have. I find it nearly impossible to read a book sitting up for any length of time. I can't concentrate on the text, my head gets heavy, and the couch beckons, a call I can almost never resist. I hold the book aloft with one hand, usually my right. Now, the Churchill book is over 1000 pages of text and weighs in at 2.2 lbs. No problem for the first twenty minutes or so of reading but after the first chapter I was extremely uncomfortable, i.e. my arm was tired. I put the book down and tried picking up where I left off a few days later. Same thing. Finally, I dropped it and started to read something that could be described as lighter fare - literally lighter.

I've had this problem with a few other books previously and I've either just struggled through or dropped it as I did the Churchill biography. Until recently, given my inability to read sitting up, those were my only alternatives. Now, however, there is another: Amazon's Kindle. As thin as a magazine and weighing in at about 10 ounces (less than a third of the Churchill book) it holds up to 1500 books. So I could buy a Kindle and get rid of the bookcases lining my wall downstairs - my entire library would fit on the Kindle. Problem solved, right?

Alas, no. The Kindle may have its uses, but for regular reading it simply will not do. I could explain but Eudora Welty already did many years ago in One Writer's Beginnings, her lovely childhood memoir. In it she explains:

It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming up of themselves like grass. Yet regardless of where they came from, I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them - with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself.

And there you have it. The book itself is an object of love: the feel of it, the smell of it, the thousands of well-read titles on your bookshelves, the thousands more surrounding you as you browse in a bookstore. The Kindle could never replace that. As I stated above, the Kindle almost certainly has its uses: to take on a trip, loaded up with travel guides about your destination; as a substitute for your computer for daily internet reading (emails, blogs, etc); and, for the few times you encounter a door-stop heavy book like Jenkins'. I wouldn't even use it to replace magazine reading or to load a bunch of books on to take to the beach. I'd rather just throw six or seven books in my suitcase. So, given what I see is its limited utility, is that worth the $359 price tag? Not hardly. If the price slides down to half of what it currently is I might consider giving the Kindle a try for the uses I mentioned above. But as a full-time replacement for my books? Never.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

I started up iTunes on my laptop this morning and ordered the songs alphabetically. I was looking to see how many versions of "Star Dust" I had (according to Will Friedwald's book Stardust Melodies, the song's proper name is spelled "Star Dust", not, as it often is, "Stardust.") Turns out I have three, the definitive vocalized version by Nat King Cole, the definitive version, period, by Artie Shaw, and a 1951 version by Louis Armstrong and his All-Stars. A few rows above "Star Dust" on the display was "St. Louis Blues", another song Friedwald covers in his terrific book, and one of the classic jazz tunes of all-time. I have three versions of that also, by Benny Goodman and his Orchestra, Duke Ellington and his Orchestra, with a terrific vocal by Bing Crosby (who, in his very early days, was a terrific jazz singer), and a 1947 version by Jack Teagarden and his Big Eight. That got me interested so I started to scroll through the listing of my nearly 1600 iTunes songs to see which songs I had the most versions of. I include in the list below all songs that I've got at least three versions of on iTunes. (I have countless songs with two versions, and none with five.) To go with the two songs mentioned above, the list turns out to be a pretty good survey of The Great American Songbook, with a sprinkling of great jazz. Here's the list:

I've got three versions of "Ain't Misbehavin'," three of "Dancing On The Ceiling," four of "Embraceable You," three of "Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye," three of "I've Got The World On A String," three of "I've Got You Under My Skin," three of "I Get A Kick Out Of You," three of "I Gotta Right To Sing The Blues," three of "Isn't It Romantic?," three of "It's Delovely," three of "It's Easy To Remember," three of "It Might As Well Be Spring," four of "Just One Of Those Things," three of "The Man I Love," four of "My Funny Valentine" (also included in Friedwald's book,) three of "Night And Day" (ditto,) three of "The Sunny Side of The Street," three of "One For My Baby," three of "Our Love Is Here To Stay," three of "Pennies From Heaven," four of "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes," three of "Solitude," three of "Stormy Weather," three of "Too Marvelous For Words," three of "The Very Thought of You," four of "The Way You Look Tonight," four of "White Christmas," three of "Yesterdays," and three of "You Took Advantage Of Me." Jerome Kern, George Gershwin, Richard Rodgers, Cole Porter, Harold Arlen, and Johnny Mercer, perhaps the six most important men responsible for what we now refer to as "The Great American Songbook" are all well-represented here.

As I scrolled through something else caught my attention: songs that begin with the contraction "Let's." I've got twelve songs of that description. And I thought, hey, that would be a good idea for a compilation record, or at least a personal playlist. It could be titled simply (like this post) "Let's!" Let's do what? Well, a lot of things, according to the list, though the most popular deed would be, to quote Cole Porter, "Let's Do It." Yes, yes, I know Porter ends each verse of this marvelous list song with the words, "Let's fall in love" but that's not what he's talking about, and we all know it. The song's opening lines of the verse tell you all you need to know:

Birds do itBees do itEven educated fleas do itLet's do it

It's at this point that Porter averts attention from his real meaning by suggesting "Let's Fall in Love." Which is nonsense. If you need more convincing the entire marvelous lyric is easily googled.

To be sure, there are a few other concerns on the "Let's!" list. Not everything in life is about that. So here's the list of the songs and their performers. Where possible, I've linked you to the song over on imeem. A couple of times I could not find the version I've got on ITunes so I've linked you to another performer's version. Of particular interest are Billie Holiday's "Let's Do It," Irving Aaronson's "Let's Misbehave" (another Cole Porter song, written in the same year as "Let's Do It," 1928, and with the same subject,) Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On," and Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," which is one of my desert island songs. So, here's "Let's!":

Monday, February 9, 2009

Blossom Dearie, she of the baby-girl voice and the delicate touch, was sui generis: there truly was no one like her. Now she's gone and we left here in this old vulgar world are the poorer for it. Blossom's music was always refined and tasteful, in the best sense of those words and, as a result, she always seemed to me a bulwark holding back the coarseness that surrounds us day by day. They say she was a difficult personality but you would never guess from her music: the exquisite piano and the hushed, whispered quality of her vocals were almost unspeakably gentle. You listened to Blossom after a hard day and you felt human again, and fully civilized. My wife and I made a special trip up to New York City a few years back so we could see her while we still could, and she was delightful. The obituaries say she stopped performing in 2006 so we saw her during her last phase, maybe one of her last performances. Right now, I'm awfully glad we made that trip. I've got lots of her music but my favorite of all her songs is the one that originally led me to her, her interpretation of Cole Porter's "Always True To You In My Fashion." Blossom's is the definitive version and it's a hoot. Another of her songs I've always loved is her version of Comden and Green's "The Party's Over". Listen and enjoy. Blossom won't need flights of angels to sing her to her rest - she can take care of that herself.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

As I mentioned below, I've recently joined facebook. Not sure how long I'll stay but I have linked up with my cousin Maria, whom I adore. I'm also back in touch with Vincent, my wife's French cousin who stayed with us during the summer of 1999 and with whom I became fast friends. The two of them are reason enough to hang around.

Anyhow, they have this thing floating around facebook where you put your IPod on shuffle and then answer the following questions by simply hitting next. The title of the next song that comes up your answer to the question. I suppose the idea is to get a few laughs from the answers but also to give others an idea of the music you like. At any rate, here's what I posted on facebook:

Okay, I stole this from Maria. Put my IPod on Shuffle and came up with these answers. From them you can surmise that I have a clownish personality, I like a girl who goes all through the night, my life's purpose is too stay alive as long as possible (Not Dark Yet), my friends all dream of me, my best friend is young and foolish (quite the contrary - he's old), I spend my life thinking about my baby (so true), I want to be happy when I grow up, I've spilled the beans about Prudence, I'll die on Twelfth Street, what scares me the most is that you're so beautiful, and I'm hurtin' so bad that I'm through with love.

Here's the entire list:

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?In A Mist ~ Bix Beiderbecke

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?Virgo Clowns ~ Van Morrison

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?All Through The Night ~ Mary Martin (haha - couldn't have picked a better title)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?Not Dark Yet ~ Bob Dylan

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?Moonlight In Vermont ~ The Nat King Cole Trio

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?Dream A Little Dream of Me ~ Louis Armstrong

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?Davenport Blues ~ Jack Teagarden

WHAT IS 2+2?I Concentrate on You ~ Rosemary Clooney

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?Young and Foolish ~ Tony Bennett

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?When A Man Loves A Woman ~ Percy Sledge

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?Too Busy Thinking About My Baby ~ Marvin Gaye

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?Get Happy ~ Benny Goodman

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?School of Hard Knocks ~ Van Morrison

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?Love Sick ~ Bob Dylan

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?Sugar Baby ~ Bob Dylan

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?How Can A Poor Boy? ~ Van Morrison

I'm out there. On the Internet, you know. I've got multiple email accounts, this blog, a youtube account, I'm now on facebook, I've got pictures loaded to flickr, I even signed up to twitter yesterday. Since no one knows who I am I'm kind of out there on my own, but I'm out there. I'm once again enjoying the blog but am not real sure if this other stuff is worthwhile or just a terrific waste of time. Still, right now, due to circumstances beyond our control, my wife is having to spend most of each day away from home so I'm basically on my own at home here. So I'm playing. I mentioned last week that I've moved all my software off the PC to the laptop to make all this stuff more convenient for me. And right now I've got plenty to keep me busy, including lots of new music to listen to. (I've discovered Jack Teagarden and his music is simply great. He is rapidly becoming one of my favorites.) I've also got a list of things to blog about too, plus (sigh) a lot of things to take care of around the house. I'm in the middle of a really fun Nero Wolfe mystery. Plus I'm getting the screenplay itch again. I've got an idea for a straight romantic comedy. I'm convinced the idea is good but whether or not I can pull it off to my satisfaction is still in question. Problem with that is, once I start it crowds everything else in my life. I tend to spend every waking minute thinking about it. If only I didn't have to work five days a week! Anyhow, I'm out there and keeping busy, and interested.

A couple of weeks ago in my post about Groundhog Day I said this when commenting on Stanley Fish's list of the ten best movies:

Vertigo is also a fine movie but Hitchcock probably did a dozen things better. Off the top of my head I think of The Lady Vanishes, The 39 Steps, Foreign Correspondent, Rebecca, Notorious, Strangers on a Train, Rear Window, and North By Northwest as being superior to Vertigo.

Little did I know at the time how out-of-step I was with the accepted opinion of "Vertigo." I realized this earlier this week when the new issue of Commentary hit the news stands and I read Terry Teachout's column, which this month deals with Hitchcock's films. You need a subscription to read the whole thing but the abstract gives you the information needed for the subject of this post:

In November of last year, CahiersduCinéma, the influential French film magazine, asked 78 French-speaking critics and scholars to choose the greatest film directors of all time. Alfred Hitchcock received the second-highest number of votes, just behind Jean Renoir but ahead of Fritz Lang, Charlie Chaplin, John Ford, Orson Welles, Ingmar Bergman, Luis Buñuel, F.W. Murnau, and Howard Hawks. The same group gave Hitchcock’s Vertigo the number-eight spot on a list of the 100 best films.1 No eyebrows were raised by the inclusion of a director of thrillers on so stellar a list of what the French refer to as cinéastes. Nor is anyone known to have expressed surprise in 2002 when Sight & Sound, the British film magazine, published the results of the latest in a series of top-10 polls that it has been conducting at decade-long intervals since 1952. On that occasion, an international panel of film critics ranked Vertigo at #2 on their list of great films, just behind Citizen Kane, while a similar group of film directors placed it at #6.

Then, a little later in the day I made my way over to James Lileks site (a daily stop because I love to laugh and Lileks makes me laugh, sometimes so hard I have to close the door to my office so no one will pass by and see me laughing like a hyena) and he too took up the subject of Vertigo:

I’m not one of those who thinks “Vertigo” is Hitchcock’s masterpiece, just because it’s “personal” and “tormented” - it’s almost a dishonest movie, and it can’t even manage to be the supernatural thriller it pretends it’s going to be. But the music just pulls your heart out. Loss and longing and emptiness - and when it’s used for the most emotional moment of the entire movie, which also happens to be the most unsettlingly sad and perverse, it turns into fulfillment and completness without changing a note.

Anyhow, I was truly surprised to find that Vertigo is widely considered to be Hitch's finest movie - I really had no idea. Who'd of guessed? The movie is good but to me it is only above average Hitch - better than most but not in the elite, as I mentioned above. The quote above shows Lileks agrees with me and if you read Terry's column he does too, so I'm in some good company there. Terry thinks North By Northwest is Hitch's best, and Lileks likes Rear Window most of all, with a nod towards North By Northwest. I would add Notorious in there to round out his top three but I do have a liking for Hitch's earlier British films, especially The 39 Steps and The Lady Vanishes. Throw in Strangers on a Train and on the strength of those six films alone Hitchcock deserves his stellar reputation. But not for Vertigo. I think it undeservedly high reputation is an example of how a group of pipe-smoking high-brows can anoint a work as "art" and the mass media nods and starts to put out the word (Raging Bull would fall into this category too). The intellectual elites doing the blessing probably felt that it was Hitchcock's finest work because of it's deadly seriousness: Lileks references its reputation as "tormented" and Terry mentions that "[Vertigo] has no comic aspect: it is one of [Hitchcock's] rare attempts to make a wholly tragic statement." Of course, the high-brows eat up anything that lacks humor: the love the serious and the tormented. To them, if Hitchcock wasn't being playful, as he often was in his other movies, then it must be a sign that he was aiming for high art in Vertigo. Therefore, Vertigo was his best.

To which I say: nonsense. The six movies I mentioned above are vastly more entertaining than Vertigo, and let's face it, while Hitchcock was a master craftsman, he was in the game to entertain, not to produce high art. It's as entertainment that his movies should be judged and on that basis, Vertigo falls short of much of his other work.